What Are Five Things You're Not?

I overheard someone say they were asked this question in an interview and it made the writer inside me curious. Writing about yourself is easy, writing about the things you are not, isn't.

Here is a glimpse of who I am, based on the things I am not.


1. I am not musical.
I'm afraid I may not even know the difference between good music and bad music. Sometimes classical jazz does it for me, other days Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off" on repeat is fine. I like the sound of my partner's music, of my friends' music, and music that I sing to in the car. I can't sing. Even though I can't sing, I once sang "Complicated" by Avril Lavigne in a talent show, so at least I've got some guts. I tried to play: guitar, trumpet, piano, without success. Although I cannot perform, you bet your ass I can dance.
2. I am not a badass.
For a moment in time, I liked to believe I was. I am not. I am soft, I am nice, and I will live in that comfortable space. Thunderstorms and loud noises give me anxiety. I love to swim, but I won't swim in cold water. Don't mistake badass for adventurous. I will try anything once. I love being in new spaces and meeting new faces, whether that be in a bar up the road or on a boat in the sea.
3. I am not a left brain.
I think with my right brain, feel with my right brain and write with it, too. I am organized and motivated, and I borrow those things from my left brain. I'm thankful both sides of my brain work well, but my right brain always seems to win. I think emotions and feel thoughts. I like thinking about colors and art and art and colors together. I need help making the tip at restaurants and calculating numbers that don't end in zeros.
4. I am not traditional.
I know there is not one way to do things. I know we are too scientifically advanced to believe in certain folklore. I believe in the radical notion that everyone should be treated with dignity and respect, equality, if you will. I am openminded. I don't practice a strict religion, but my spirituality does not make me less than. I am not a traditional human being in all senses of the word, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
5. I am not overwhelmed.
In my late teenage years I used to feel overwhelmed. I used to feel like things would never slow down. Like I was on a spinning ferris wheel that would only continue to spin faster until it came off of its hinges. I live now with roots planted firmly. I have all the love a person could ever want to help me grow. I am grounded. I am proud of the things I am not. In fact, I celebrate them.

Tea with Grandma Marilyn

I stop in, unannounced, she pours me a cup of tea. Offers sugar, I decline. My favorite way to drink my tea is with my grandma. She mixes a strong amount of advice in my tea. I also get doses of it when I pause for sips. Not the abrupt and unsolicited kind of advice. The kind that I didn't think I asked for, but I actually did, and she reassures my decisions. She tells me stories of dirty aprons and cookie recipes. We discuss topics like forensic entomologists and the yarn harlot. My grandma who loves me close, yet still treats me as her equal. She tells me of the places she has traveled and suggests little boutiques I would love. She watches the Tigers. She does magic in the garden. Growing, growing, growing.  My grandma knits me things every year for Christmas. The yarn she picks out is specific to my style. That's what my grandma does, she watches. She notices. She teaches.
She has taught me how to be a strong and independent woman. She has encouraged me to learn beyond the classroom. She has inspired me to be who I am. My grandma always paused to notice the fine details in my clothing, the stitching, the fabric, the way I wear my scarves. She never misses an opportunity to tell me I look nice. Or to be honest and tell me that, no, I do not love your hair like that.
Her jokes, when she can get the punchline right, are funny. So funny. Maybe because I learned my sense of humor from her, or maybe because they are so bad they are funny, I'm not sure, and I'm not sure I care. My grandma, who is not shy. Who bakes cookies, with chocolate chips and some mysterious ingredient that is something like love. She has given me the recipe, and I have tried to make them over and over again, but mine never taste the same. They taste like they want to be just like Grandma's, but aren't quite there yet. That's kind of how I feel. Like I want to be just like this woman, but I haven't learned enough yet.
She laughs at my jokes and she listens, really listens. She remembers. My grandma is someone so special in my life. She is so intelligent, strong, hardworking, she is things that words fail to describe. If I can love half as much as she does, read half as much as she does, and be half the woman she is, I think I'll do ok. I'm so lucky to have a grandma who is also one of my best friends. There aren't enough hugs and love to give to her, but that's ok. I think she gets it. I think she gets me.

38,256 Pages

I wanted to avoid a last day of classes post. The nostalgia of the first day sinking in. The end of an era. I can't avoid it. There are lots of feels involved. I am happy. I am scared. I am blank. I am in a lot of debt. But, it was worth every penny. I sat in lectures, took my notes, and did my homework. That's not where I learned the bulk of the knowledge I am leaving with today. I learned through living in an environment where we were encouraged to voice our opinions. To challenge our past opinions, and educate ourselves using our peer's experiences. Our professors facilitated classrooms, and chose noteworthy subjects, but ultimately, we learned as much from each other as we did from them. The educators I met were encouraging. By encouraging I mean that there wasn't tension. We weren't told what to believe. In fact, in my education, I was fortunate enough to have educators who fostered students who pushed back on textbooks. Not everything written is fact. They have inspired me to be a lifelong learner. I would not be the person I am today without the schooling I received. Without the educators who didn't dance around topics like race, gender and sexuality. We faced these things head on, looking at their origins. Looking at the origins of hate. My opinions are my own, but they were nurtured through the love and acceptance of all of my professors here at MSU. I am sad to leave, but I know this is not good bye. I have built several friendship and professional relationships that will be there to guide and support me in all that I do.

This semester, I decided to keep track of how many pages I read. I've read about 4,807 pages. I would say that's a fair representation of most of my semesters here at MSU. Which means, as I walked out of my last sit-down class of undergrad today, I left with about 38,256 more pages of knowledge. Read on, my friends. Read with your friends. Talk with your friends. You won't learn anything if you don't listen. If you don't ask.

GO GREEN. 

You Made Home a Home

Her name is Hannah.
I didn't know she was going to be my best friend when I met her in 2005. She had braces and I had pimply skin and greasy hair. We went to see some movie with some friends, we ate Arby's, I went home and never thought I would see her again.
Until she moved into my dorm room at MSU. Our dorm room. Room 104. Then the house 242. And apartment 107. And now, apartment 334. This is our last few weeks together.
I have lived life for four years with the best partner, friend, sister, mate in the whole entire world. Maybe you think I'm being melodramatic when I tell you that I am crying onto my keyboard at just the thought of not being her roommate anymore. You see, when you breath the same air as someone for long enough you start to pick up on the things that other people wouldn't. You start to communicate in ways that aren't entirely conventional. Your brain waves sync up. You answer strangers with the same tone of voice at the same moment with the same words, often. Your actions reverberate off of each other. Your things become our things. Hannah, you make any place feel like home, even if it's in the corner of a really awkward party that we weren't invited too.
On any given Friday you can find us drunkenly deep cleaning our apartment. I wish this didn't sound so lame to outside world, because some weeks, all that's getting me through the week is knowing that Friday night we'll get to bleach the shower grout while drinking Turbo Corona's. Or on Saturdays when we put on our lipstick and become the double trouble duo, hiding tiny bottles of rum and vodka in our purses. We just want to be dancing, dancing, dancing. During the week days, when we are both running out of steam, out of food, and some weeks, we've run out of tears. But there is always time to stand in your doorway and debrief. There is always time for ONE MORE YouTube video. There is always time to be slumped over the kitchen table discussing our fears, our dreams, how we see the world. There is always time for KiKi MeowMeow. Without you, Hannah, I would not know what is happening in the world. You are my newspaper.
There aren't enough ways to thank you for being my person. Being the one who makes home a home. There aren't enough ways to thank you for being my best friend. For writing me little notes of encouragement during some of the darkest days and helping me devour an entire pizza during some of the best. For celebrating the small victories, and being a part of the details. We knew we couldn't live together forever, but never did I think that it was going to be this hard. Even though we won't share a closet anymore, my shit will always be your shit. There aren't enough people like you in this world. Now go move some mountains.

To Whom It May Concern: The Cover Letter I Wish I Could Send

Dear Sir or Madame,

I would like to be considered for hire at Sucking the Soul Out of Me Monday-Friday. I am interested in the position of Executive Eater of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and Watcher of Slam Poetry Videos. I would be an excellent candidate for this position because I like to read, I love to write, and I majored in English, therefore, you are going to see me as just another liberal arts student, but rest assured, I am different. There are lots of reasons you should hire me. I can says lots of bullshit with only a few words. OR I can say a little bullshit with lots of words, depending if you need a tweet or a brochure. I'm patient enough to wait in a 45 minute line for coffee, and I won't tell you when your breath smells. I can't afford your business casual dress code, but don't worry, I don't really wear plunging necklines, so you will never have to have an awkward dress code conversation with me (even though it is my body and I can dress however I want). I know lots of little things that aren't on my resume. I know all the functions of the pads on a dog's paws and I have dabbled in the French language (yes, I do know how to say all of the curse words). My strengths are: giving positive and critical feedback, typing really fucking fast, and organizing things in a way that doesn't make sense to anyone but me! My weaknesses are: sometimes I wear the same makeup two days in a row, I get cranky around 4:00pm and I have to stand up from my chair every hour or else I will fall asleep onto my keyboard. One of my favorite office pastimes is distracting co-workers.  I enjoy working with other people, as long as they aren't mean. If they are mean, I won't really do anything about it, but I will probably cry on the bus ride home, so keep that in mind. Also, I have a hard time getting to sleep so I always look kinda hungover. I tell really painfully bad jokes, and get slightly offended when people don't laugh, just another FYI. You should totally hire me though, because I need to eat, my book hasn't gotten published, and I'm down with the mission statement of your company. If you would like an interview, hmu.

P.S. I'm not taking my nose ring out.

P.P.S. I have visible tattoos, but they aren't offensive. So, yeah.

All the Best,
Morgan B. Hanks

Getting Shitty Mail - some words on rejection and being unsatisfied

I was running on the treadmill this afternoon. Heavy feet and sweaty palms, wishing there was some easier way to lose 10 pounds (without giving up french fries). Exercising sucks a lot, but it does take my mind off the impending doom that is my future and focuses it on the more immediate future, which is getting that hot bod..............lololol
I decided to skip the 3 minute cool down session on the treadmill and treat my walk home from the gym as a cool down. On my short walk home, I checked my e-mail because smartphone. I always kind of knew I was going to get this e-mail. The e-mail telling me that the position, my post-grad dream position, had been taken by someone who was not me. They didn't want me. They didn't even want to interview me. I got that feeling. The feeling like inverted butterflies, and their wings are actually fluttering around all the acid in your stomach, so I could taste it. Yep, I cried. But that comes later. Passing the mailbox,  feeling all weird and rejected, and sweaty, I grabbed the mail. Bills, bills, bills. To be more specific, $500 total in bills. Outstanding parking tickets, which have been paid, but looks like now I have to go to court to settle that. And a offensive bill from my university's medical clinic, notifying me they have sent my account over to collections, despite the fact that I have been following the agreed upon payment plan. HERE is where the tears come in. I made some clam chowder and cried while researching ways to cut your own bangs. (Don't worry Jessica...I didn't do it). I am herby changing my address, identification, and phone number so that I can start over. But I'm actually not going to, because that would be such a hassle. So yeah, not really my most poetic piece. Pretty whiny actually. But my day sucked. Planning on tomorrow being better. The breadsticks and cherry Coke I just consumed helped, too.

Cheese and Hot Wings and The Man That I Love

It is no secret, I am in love. I am in love with a man who's birth the world is celebrating today. I am in love with a 24 year-old giant heart. A heart so big he would give you his strawberry milkshake because you didn't really like your blueberry smoothie, even though strawberry milkshakes are his favorite. He fixes things. Like my car, my bad days and squeaky cupboard doors. He does things like drive around during snowstorms to pull people out of ditches with his truck. Her name is Peggy Sue, and I used to think she was just a truck, but now I understand that she really does have a personality. This man stole my heart three years ago. It worked backwards. Our love started as a complicated kind of love, a long distance kind of love. As the Earth rotated around the sun the love unraveled, it became simple. It became hot wings and french fries. Harry Potter movies and drinking whiskey by the water. Our love is fun. It is an adventure. He is an adventure. Our love is laughing so hard my jaw hurts. He is the man that I love for one hundred thousand million reasons. And a new reason everyday. He always comes on the dance floor with me. He loves puppies. He is so incredibly intelligent that he invents things over iced tea, on road trips and in the early hours of the morning. I keep telling him to keep a notebook of these million dollar ideas, but he keeps telling me that's why he is dating a writer. They say when a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. I agree, but I think they forgot something. They forgot that when a writer falls in love with you, Michael, that they never run out of material. You inspire me to write, to create and to be better. I loved you. I love you. And I will always love you. Happy 24, and here's to many more. xoxoxo